


Somebody That I Used To Know

by joufancyhuh



Series: To Know A Vael [9]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Remeeting later in life, lovers to strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-11-03 20:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: Seeing Sebastian again in the Chantry and calling himself a Prince sent Hawke into a rage. But she didn't come to fight this time, only to find the answers her heart craves.





	Somebody That I Used To Know

**Author's Note:**

> How many times have I redone this now? Too freaking many. But now it's a one-shot and I'm done and there will be no redoing, I'm moving on.

“We should talk.” 

Kalea stood by the now closed door of the aveplaste, her arms crossed over her chest with her eyes focused on the kneeling shadow of the man directly in front of her. The resolution in her voice undercut with hesitancy, the same brand that caused her to spend the week hiding behind the wide pillars of the Chantry while she spied on Sebastian’s new life. 

Not that he minded, her stealth no match for his acute awareness, especially when armed with the knowledge that she lived in Kirkwall. He did his best to ignore her presence, the only change to his day when he began to take his devotionals in the privacy of the aveplaste. She would approach when comfortable, he knew, and this presented the best opportunity, even though the space was nothing more than a glorified closet with an altar. 

Sebastian stayed in place, forearms resting against the banister, hands clasped together in prayer. His eyes fluttered open to the soft light of the burning red candles in rows slightly above his head. “Aye,” he agreed with nothing more, allowing her to go first. 

Neither expected to see the other when she stormed into the Chantry the week prior, his flyer in hand, the Flint company’s blood fresh on her blades. She threw a few punches which he easily dodged, waited around long enough to receive payment while utilizing some colorful curses, then proceeded to march out of the Chantry with her friends. That was it, no real conversation. 

Kalea remained by the exit, perhaps to prevent him from leaving, but more likely to allow for a fast escape if the need arose. And standing behind him, away from those piercing blue eyes that she still dreamt of sometimes -more often now that she found him again- granted her the ability to process any unwanted parts of their conversation in peace. 

“So … you’re a priest now.” 

After waiting to see if she added anything else, he spoke. “A brother, but aye.” 

“And yet, you’re also a Prince.”

“Aye, I was.” His voice tinged with sadness at the mention, the smallest peek into his internal conflict. He considered giving her the full story, about his parents, how he ended up in the Chantry, but decided against it. True, he owed it to her, but one thing at a time. If she asked though, he would tell her no lies. 

Her hand raised to rub at her forehead, the other still across her chest. Maker, this next question … She spent night and night debating what to ask when she finally cornered him, to obtain the answers that her younger self demanded. Questions and accusations pinged around in her head, each one with a stronger craving for the truth than the last. But unless she wished to barricade them both in the closet until her curiosity sated, she had to pick and choose. And this one, he owed her. 

“Why did you really leave?” Even as the question left her lips, tears pricked the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. Whenever she closed them, images flashed of that last kiss in Lothering, his finger to her lips, words murmured as he did so. What were they again? 

That question, though expected, made him flinch. He shut his eyes, calling up the image of her with firelight in her hair, staring at him with such a hopefulness as she offered him the warmth of her home, of her family. And how badly he wanted to accept at that time, to share that, and the rest of his life, with her.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he sought to find his voice. There wasn’t an easy answer, but he tried for one anyway. “My parents chose for me. I came back to appease them, but also because  _ I  _ wanted this. I want to help people, the same way the Maker helped me.” 

She made a hasty motion to wipe the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. He told her as much when she asked him years ago, though with less talk about the Maker. “So … what happens now? You send the templars after me?” 

This caused him to jump to his feet, spinning around to finally face her. When he saw the streaky stains on her cheeks, twinkling in the candlelight, it gave him pause. Did she really think so little of him now? “Kalea, I wouldn’t … I’m not going to turn you in.” He considered adding on that he valued her friendship, but there wasn’t one, was there? 

Remnants of the young woman he knew in Fereldan lingered in the paint swiped across the bridge of her nose and the soft brown color of her eyes, but he picked up new pieces of her as well. Those eyes now had a hard edge to them, something colder than her magic that prickled goosebumps across his arms. She wore her dark hair longer, her bangs lost to growth, pulled back and out of her face, adding to her age. A blade gleaned on her back from the top of her staff, threatening even in its stillness. 

If all these details added up to where he felt he no longer knew her, no wonder she mirrored that opinion about himself. 

“I’m sorry,” he added, because it felt like the appropriate thing to do. “I … I should’ve told you. I thought if I did, you would disapprove, talk me out of it. And things were so fragile that you would’ve succeeded. I needed this, Pidge.”

_ And I needed you _ , she thought about saying before biting it back, the taste of it copper like blood. Her old nickname fluttered in her ears, a tiny smile threatening to break the seriousness of her face. All too quickly the urge passed, mostly due to the idea of relying on another person again brewing bile in her stomach. The old Kalea survived with that sort of weakness, but not here, not in Kirkwall. Sebastian’s reappearance changed nothing about her current situation, and she wasted enough time spying on him this week. “Look, I had to know that my secret’s safe, and it is. I’m not here to give you a hard time about something that happened years ago. Seems like you’ve got enough of that with what happened to your family.” At this, her arms uncrossed as her gaze fell to the floor. “Sorry about that, by the way. Losing family … it sucks.” 

He chuckled, though forced. “Aye, that it does.” A notion to ask after her own family arose then flitted away. Opening that door gave way for scrutiny on his own family matters, and he desired no inquiries on that. The gesture came appreciated however. 

Her body half-turned toward the door, her eyes trained above his head. “Well, this has been … I don’t know. Something.” She always struggled with goodbyes, instead disappearing when backs turned. Even with all the questions churning inside her head, she got what she wanted from him, enough to leave it and not return, to finally move on and not wonder what happened to her old friend. 

The anger that boiled when she first saw him, Prince Sebastian Vael, shifted into a tired that ached into her bones. This chapter, the one where he headlined, it ended long ago, and now with the final piece, the time came to move on and put this all behind her. 

“You’re always welcome back to the Chantry, Kalea,” he said, suspecting their time to reach a natural end. A soft smile drew up the corners of his lips. It was nice to see her again, alive and healthy and once again an answer to his prayers. Once, he sought guidance and stumbled upon her. Now, he prayed for closure, and in she entered like Andraste herself to avenge his family’s death. 

The half-assed smile she gave in return only meant to appease him, and she slipped out the door, sneaking her way back out and into The Hanged Man to begin her drinking for the night. 

He turned around and resumed his kneeling position, hands clasping together as he lowered his head in prayer. As usual, the last one he saved for her, asking the Maker for her protection. 


End file.
